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Elceleth part 1
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
ELCELETH
Chapter 1
Sweat dripped off her glistening body as she lay helpless and
exhausted from her struggles against her bonds. Her arms were bound
together behind her back by a leather sheath which ended in a sack for
her hands and buckled tightly to a collar of leather around her neck.
Her legs were similarly encased in a sheath that ran from the toes to
just above the knees. Straps at the end of the hand and foot pouches
were buckled together, so that laying, naked as she was, on her side
was least uncomfortable. Most humiliating of all was the object around
and within her mouth, that prevented her from uttering anything but the
most muffled of sounds. It was a gag in the shape of a male human member,
held firmly in place by a wide strap which buckled behind her head, with
an additional strap under her chin to prevent it from slipping. As she lay
motionless on the suede skin, now soaked with her own sweat, she pondered
how she came to this fate.
...At 200 turns of the seasons in age, Elceleth thought she had
seen everything this small community had to offer. As a favored dancer,
she was oft times asked by the Elders to perform for their guests. She
alone of all the dancers in the area kept her blue-white hair short,
nearly as short as a helm-wearing warrior, as if to flaunt the fact that
her dancing did not need flowing hair to embellish it. Her elven ears
were particularly sharply pointed, and only enhanced the effect of her
cropped hair. She loved to dance. It was when she danced that she felt
most free and alive. Although her execution of the traditional dances
was flawless, she was renowned and loved for her freeform dances. She
had danced for humans before, and usually found them wanting in wit and
manners. This night she expected to be no different.
Her dance went particularly well that evening, perhaps because the
guest was truly mystifying. He was a head taller than any one in the hall,
making him of a size with the black-haired City Elves from the east. Yet
he was broader, like any human warrior, with neat short golden hair of the
style that class generally wore. His face was fair of feature, beautiful
and tanned, with ice blue eyes which burned with an intensity which only
the rarest of Humans possessed; an intensity unknown to the unaging elves.
He wore a white linen shirt which exposed his strongly muscled chest, and
tight leggings of black leather.
Perhaps her dance reflected the way he both fascinated and frightened
her. Being of Wood Elven stock, she was small and lithe; slimly toned and
agile as she danced. Her energy rose to a fevered pitch as she reached the
climax of her dance, then finished.
Elder Zantah told her she had never danced better as he brought her
over to meet his guest. As she approached, Elceleth noticed the female human
kneeling at the blonde mountain's side. She had long black hair and deep
brown eyes that said "I am his". She wore less than Elceleth herself would
wear for an erotic dance; a two piece leather outfit which hardly covered her
rounded breasts, which made Elceleth feel like a child in comparison. A long
loincloth which left her hips and legs bare and fell to the knees completed
her costume. She also wore a stiff leather collar of a matching color which
was wide enough to keep her neck well postured. Elceleth thought "Not a mate,
nor a consort, nor a servant. She has the bearing of a favored pet; a
champion of her breed."
Elder Zantah introduced them as Master Corlon and Mistress Qantar,
emissaries from the court of Regent Kenia of the coastal kingdom of Iborland.
That explained much to her. She had heard stories of Iborians, thought she
had thought the stories of females being property were just rumors. Looking
at Mistress Qantar's eyes showed that all this was true. Iborland been
looking to trade for lumber for years, needing it for their ever growing navy.
Elceleth's region had a desperate shortage of iron and steel for armor and
weapons in combating the ever encroaching hordes of humanoid monsters. A deal
must be in the offing, for Iborland was known from long before the coming of
humans as the Iron Coast. Master Corlon's eyes studied her as a cattleman
might examine a brood mare. Elceleth shivered from that look and found the
first excuse to leave the dinner, knowing that Zantah would send her payment
around the next morning.
While she slept that night, she had uneasy dreams of Corlon's stare
and how he placed his collar around her neck and attached a chain lead to it,
drawing her close and whispering "Mine" with possessive intensity. She awoke
with a start to find that her dream had become an all-too- real nightmare. As
she tried to scream, Corlon jammed a wad of cloth in her mouth and secured it
with another strip of cloth, then hoisted her easily over his shoulder and
carried her into the night. Her punches and kicks struck ineffectually
against his massive form as he carried her struggling body to a waiting wagon,
where he methodically stripped her and bound her as she now lay...
Elceleth squinted as a shaft of morning light fell upon her eyes when
the flap to the wagon was opened. Mistress Qantar slinked in like a predatory
cat eyeing a helpless morsel foolish enough to find itself unable to flee.
Elceleth squirmed her body over as far as her limited mobility would allowed.
Then Corlon climbed in as the wagon lurched forward. Corlon spoke to her in
near-perfect elvish as he sat in a throne-like chair. "Well, little one, you
will be pleased to know that the Wood Elves need never fear from those nasty
hobgoblins again. Iborland is trading your people a substantial amount of
iron; enough to arm and armor every elf in this region. In return we will
receive enough wood for 5 warships, and of course, you. Quite frankly, my
Lord Regent Kenia had half a mind to deal with the hordes, and just might
have... except that your Elders saw the wisdom of our ways, and added you to
the trade. What do you say to this?"
Her eyes said it all more eloquently than if she could speak though
the horribly obscene phallic gag - Betrayal and Fear. How could her Elders
literally sell her to a human? What did he want of her? She suddenly became
frighteningly aware of her nakedness, and rolled on her belly to in a vain
attempt to hide herself.
"Oh no, my dear, we can't have that. Qantar, punish her." The
black-maned pet picked up a leather covered paddle, and proceeded to swat
Elceleth all over her exposed torso and buttocks as Corlon continued to speak.
"You must be trained to act as an Iborian. You belong to me and will always
do as I say. You will always kneel in my presence unless ordered to do
otherwise. You will always cross your wrists in front of you if I approach
you, if you are not bound already. You will not speak unless I order you to
speak. When I give you an order, you will follow that order as quickly as
possible, as long as I do not order you to do otherwise. All this you will do,
and more, under fear of punishment. Do you understand?"
Elceleth was pink all over her exposed body. Her every movement was
agony. But she nodded 'yes' though the haze of pain of joints stiff from
restraint and tender, paddled flesh.
"Excellent." he purred. "Qantar! Go to the next wagon and await my
summons." Qantar, whose eyes were aglow with delight, crawled to the edge of
the wagon like a cat who had found a mouse particularly tasty, and exited
without a word.
Corlon then pulled out a soft feather and played it across Elceleth's
body. Her senses were now aflame with the softness, which was heightened by
the sensitivity of her battered skin. He soon brought her to orgasm, without
even touching her easily accessible clitoris. He then removed the phallic gag
from her mouth.
"You see the natural order of things? We Iborians bring greater
pleasure to our women than anyone else in the world. All we ask in return is
complete and absolute obedience; unconditional surrender." he said as he freed
her from all her bonds save her collar and lead. "But for you I provide the
ultimate honor. A choice; perhaps the last one of your life. You have
experienced a small taste of the Iborian way. You may now choose. Stay with
me, be mine, and ultimate pleasure is yours; and the Wood Elves need never
fear from the hordes again. Refuse me, and go back to your village, naked
and collared. I'm sure a good smith would only take an hour or two to break
the lock. Forsake pleasure, and forsake your people; for our agreement
hinges on you. Leave and Iborland deals with the hordes, and all you know
will be dust. Choose, little one."
"I...I...w..will stay w..with you, but I want to know - why?!?"
"I wanted you; that is sufficient. If others want you, they must slay
me to win you. You have chosen, but I do not sense total surrender in your
eyes. That will change with time, probably after I shave and brand you. Eat
your fill and await my return." With that he locked her lead to his heavy
chair and leaped out of the moving wagon, leaving his newest pet to ponder her
decision.
When Corlon returned to the wagon, Elceleth had indeed fed, and had
wrapped the floor skin around her torso. Immediately he flung the skin from
her, turned her over his knee and spanked her sharply five times. She yelped
like a frightened cur with each blow.
"That is for disobeying me!" he snarled. "You did not cross your
wrists when I entered, and I did not say you could cover yourself!"
"But I was cold, Cor-YIPE!" Her protests were cut short by another
spank. She had not been spanked in 150 years, since the time she broke her
now-late father's favorite vase. A whipping would be easier to stand, or so
she thought.
"You will address me as Master Corlon or Master! Do you understand?"
"Yes, M..Master Corlon." she wept through sobs of humiliation.
"Good! Now listen carefully. If I underestimate your ability to
tolerate the cold, you will perform your duties less ably that I expect. It
is MY decision whether to tolerate your lesser performance or to clothe you.
Total obedience means not to assume anything. If I leave you naked, and do
not tell you to cover yourself, you will stay naked until I order you dressed.
Do you understand?"
"Yes, Master." she whimpered. How could her Elders do this to her?
Was Iborian iron so important that they would accept her abduction without
complaint? If it was so important could they not have asked her, or at least
told her? Or was her unwilling abduction part of the deal?
"We will be stopping soon for the night. When I call for you, you
will come out of the wagon, eat while warming yourself by the fire, then lie
on your belly upon the leather skin which will already be laid out, and wait.
Do you understand?"
"Yes, Master." she replied as Corlon unlocked her lead from her
collar. NO! THE lead from THE collar. She mustn't think of the collar as
hers. But now what? She was more than a day's journey from home, naked and
collared. If she ran away, he would probably find her and beat her again,
like a disobedient hound. She didn't want that humiliation. So she waited.
When she heard her name, she came out and walked reluctantly to the
fire, as a cur might who wasn't sure if she had done wrong. She felt alone,
more than naked, and humiliated that she must follow HIS orders. A dozen
pairs of eyes did not fall upon her as she truly expected; but continued to
focus on conversations as if her approach was beneath their notice. She
wasn't sure if being ignored or being the center of attention was worse.
By the time she reached the supper caldron, she knew for certain. To have
them react as if it was as ordinary as tying her boot laces was far worse
than having them leer and taunt her as she performed their tricks. She ate
in silence, listening to their human tongue which seemed to have an
inexplicably harsher accent than the version she had learned. Then she lay
upon the skin which must be meant for her. It was surrounded by four torches
mounted on metal stands which had been driven into the earth.
She lay there, waiting and wondering what was going to happen next.
At least the torches kept her back and legs warm. Then she heard several
humans get up from their places and approach her. She felt certain that they
were going to beat her senseless for some as yet unknown disobedience, or
perhaps rape her from behind in the manner of the children of the forest (for
only the High One's chosen were allowed to face each other while coupling.
To face each other in the sharing of passions was a goddess-given gift.. To
do otherwise would be a lowering of one's self). But instead she felt a hand
stroke her hair and back gently as Corlon spoke to her in elvish.
"You see how easy it is to follow directions? Now we will reward you
for your obedience." <Bind her to the posts.> he finished in the Human
tongue. She did not struggle as they spread her arms outstretched and up,
but began to worry as they spread her legs wide enough that she was glad that
she had a dancer's limberness. What was next? The feather, she hoped.
<Now prepare her for shaving.>
"WHAT?!?" she yelled with a start, and received a spank for speaking.
"Removing the body hair increases sensitivity." Corlon informed her
matter-of-factly.
"NO!!" she howled, yanking uselessly against the leather bonds with
all her might. She knew her actions would bring stern punishment, but in her
horror and indignation did not care. Surprisingly, no pain was forth-coming;
only Corlon's calm, clear voice.
<Struggle if you wish, but I'd advise against it. The blade is very
sharp, and all that thrashing around could get you nicked.> There was
laughter in the background from Corlon's entourage.
His word struck her like a stone wall, and the panic of fear
instantly transformed into the paralysis of fear. Gentle hands spread lather
on her trembling back as he continued to speak.
<Qantar, for every nick you give our little elf, I will administer
one stroke with the heavy lash. But to let you know that I still favor you -
if the elf's struggling causes the nick, you will receive a stroke from the
light whip, and then you may in turn lash her once, as well. Does that seem
fair to you?>
<Yes, my Lord-Master.> replied Qantar with a velvet-smooth tone.
Qantar continued to lather the elf and leaned down to whisper in a
voice so low that Elceleth was certain only she could hear. "Do not try to
be still. Just relax and think calm thoughts, and perhaps we can both avoid
the lash." Elceleth tried to do as she said, thinking of a quiet waterfall
she knew of. That helped.
<Yes, Qantar. You have a question?> Elceleth wondered how she was
letting Corlon know she wished to speak. She wished she could see so she
could learn (gasp!)...how to serve her master better.
<Yes, my Lord-Master. May I warm the blade so the first touch does
not startle her? She is no doubt unused to its touch and I do not wish to
mar her beauty.>
<Though I appreciate your concern, I do not believe that will be
necessary. Little one, the blade may be cold. Try not to twitch too much
when you feel it.>
<Yes, Master.> was Elceleth's barely audible response.
Elceleth did jump a little as the blade touched her flesh, but Qantar
had anticipated that and drew no blood. The human sighed in relief, and then
began her duty in ernest. Her touch was well skilled, and not once did she
falter while shaving her charge's neck, back, hands, and arms. The buttocks
were another matter, for the elf found the light touch embarrassing and
ticklish. She jerked with every stroke of the blade, so Qantar's progress
was slowed to a crawl. Each jerk made Elceleth more aware of her helplessness
and vulnerability. Fortunately her legs went mercifully quickly, and her body
was then rinsed with warm water.
<My Lord-Master, my task is half completed. Her bindings must be
re-adjusted for me to complete my task.>
<Excellent, Qantar. Men, prepare her.>
<Yes, my Lord.> was replied by several voices in unison, and without
hesitation. Elceleth was unbound fully, flipped onto her back, and rebound
even more tightly. "Not so," she thought, "the leather just stretched a
little, and my muscles tightened up." But now she could see Qantar, and
wished that she couldnt.
Qantar was nude, and her face shone in the torchlight with a light
sheen of sweat. She too was hairless save her long tresses and eyebrows.
None of this disturbed the elf too much. It was the fact that Qantar's
wrists were tightly roped together. How could she possibly control the blade
like that?
<Qantar, do her face first.>
<Yes, my Lord-Master.>
Qantar lathered Elceleth's face including, to her horror, her long
pointed ears. Then the smallest razor she had ever seen was taken to her
face, as Qantar adeptly removed the fine hairlets from her face save for her
thin slanted brows. Elceleth closed her eyes, and was at her waterfall again.
Then the razor moved to her right ear. Elceleth moaned in mixed pleasure and
outrage. How dare this human pet touch her eartips and move her to pleasure
in the most intimate of areas, where only one's most favored lovers were
welcome!
<Ah, my Lord. See how she stirs!> exclaimed one of his servants.
<My most sincere thanks for pointing out the obvious, Donto. It
would seem that our little elf has a pleasure point unknown to us! This does
bear future investigation.>
"They know!" Elceleth thought in horror, as she lay helplessly spread
to the four winds. "How will I ever survive such an invasion of my body? This
is ten-fold worse than rape." But still the pleasure waves struck her like
breakers against a rocky shore. As any unaging one knows, eventually the
water always wins. By the time Qantar had finished her ears, Elceleth was
well and fully aroused.
<My Lord, shall we stroke her ears while your lady-mistress continues
her task?> cruelly teased the somewhat portly Donto. Hearing this, Elceleth
knew she could learn to hate that human easily.
With nearly the speed of thought, a dagger which had but an instant
ago been in a sheath on Corlon's hip was firmly pinning Donto's boot in the
ground. Corlon roared in anger, <Did I NOT say this bears FUTURE
investigation!?!> Corlon was obviously a human who did not like others
teasing his pets.
<I..I..I.beg your forgiveness, m..my Lord.> stammered the shocked
retainer.
<You live only because your insolence is slightly less than your
usefulness, for now. > Corlon growled. Turning to his pet, he said in a
gentler voice <Continue, Qantar.>
<Yes my Lord-Master.>
And so the ritual continued. Qantar lovingly traced Elceleth's arms,
feet and legs, leaving the torso for last. In shaving the torso, Qantar
started from the neck, moving slowly down toward the clitoris. Being already
aroused by the touching of her ears, Elceleth was brought to greater tension
and pleasure, indeed excitement, by the touch of the blade to her elven-fine
pubic hair. She knew that Qantar was being supremely careful not to nick her,
as the drops of perspiration which fell from the human's face onto her legs
and belly attested. Looking into her eyes, Elceleth could see Qantar's
concentration and intensity. It was apparent to her that the human was
fighting the stirrings of her own passion. Though embarrassed, Elceleth
found that in her aroused state the attention and care being ministered upon
her by one who found her sexual was even more exciting. When Qantar finally
finished, she had to bite her tongue to keep from begging for release of her
passions. Now devoid of all body hair, she felt even more than before like a
child before the buxom Qantar.
It was then that she realized that her shaving was a many leveled
lesson, and just how clever Corlon was. Besides the stated increase in
sensitivity, the ritual was designed to make her trust and befriend Qantar
(for what master wants his pets fighting?); to make her feel small and
helpless; to impress upon her that he could and would do this and anything
else he wanted to her (also that he did NOT bluff); and last, to discover all
the most sensitive and erogenous parts of her body. How could she ever hope
to outwit such cleverness?
Corlon spoke to her through her haze of introspection and need. <It
would seem, little one, that you want for pleasure again. Say something that
pleases me and I will give you release.>
She thought, "He wants me to surrender, to say I give in, to willingly
accept all the abuses and humiliation which he heaps upon me. I need, but not
at that cost. What can I say to please him without giving in?" Then she
smiled and purred <Master Corlon, it would seem to me that Mistress Qantar's
task is not completed until my wrists and ankles are shaven where the straps
touch my skin.>
Corlon howled with delight, and once he caught his breath from
laughter said, <I knew I had chosen well when I picked you! What wit and
fire you have! Qantar, ease her passions.>
Qantar gave the Elf a look which told her that she had earned both
humans' respect and approval. Qantar knelt between Elceleth's legs, bent down
and began to stroke her victim's clitoris with her tongue. In only a moment
Elceleth was writhing and howling in the throes of the most intense orgasm she
had ever experienced. The sensuality of her nakedigrign; the tension,
excitement, and helplessness of her spread and bound body; the supreme skill
with which Qantar used her tongue; the knowledge that her captor orchestrated
this whole event; all these things came together to provide a thing she had
never experienced before: Intensity. This was a thing thing that no lover
she had ever known before had possessed, and that was what moved her this
night. She collapsed, sated with carnal pleasure. As she lay there panting,
Qantar replaced her collar, and untied each bond, shaving each area as she
went.
<Well done, Qantar. As a reward, I will allow you to choose any
member of my entourage to pleasure this night except of course for Donto, in
case you had an idea to lower your standards.>
<My Lord-Master. I am honored by your most generous gift of choice.
If it pleases you, I would choose my Lord-Master; for given a choice, there
is truly none that I would rather be with than you.> Corlon merely smiled at
this. Qantar truly loved her master.
<I will join you presently in my sleeping wagon, my Lady-Mistress>
said he as he came to Elceleth, connected a lead to her collar, and drew her
up by it. He took her back to the wagon, led her in, locked her to the heavy
chair again, and left. He returned not too much later to find Elceleth
kneeling with her wrists crossed in front of her. He smiled, laid out a fur
where the floor skin had been, fettered her ankles together with a single
steel shackle, then laid her on the soft bedding. She thought about how
ironic it was to be bound in the same steel that would save her people. The
feel of the fur was more luxurious than she thought possible. Could it be
from her lack of body hair, or from the contrast to the touch of Qantar's
blade? She wasn't sure, nor did she at present care.
"You have done well today, little one." said Corlon, tossing a second
fur to her. "At least for your first day. You may cover yourself with this
fur as you sleep tonight. When you wake, we will no doubt already be
travelling. You will feed yourself with the food that will be left for you,
and will cover yourself with the fur if you find yourself too cold."
"Thank you, Master Corlon." she said, snuggling into the fur as she
pulled it over herself. It felt good to be able to cover herself without
fear of punishment. She, upon reflection, distinguished between nudity and
nakedness. Nudity was being at ease with one's nakedness, like Qantar was.
Would she ever feel nude? She sat up suddenly and turned towards Corlon,
daring to speak unbidden. "May I ask a question?"
"Besides the one you have just asked? Yes. But whether I choose to
answer you, I cannot guarantee."
"Why do you address me as 'little one' instead of by my name?" She
felt certain that to state her name would offend him, thus destroying the
favor she had endured so much earn; no, to be granted.
"The answer is threefold. One; you are little. Two; at the elvish
gathering, with all the foreign names that I heard, I may just have chosen
not to remember yours. Three; if I have remembered, I may not choose to call
you by it. I may give you a name of my own choosing. I believe Qantar's
original name was Bashinon or something like that."
"Now I understand, Master. Please forgive my ignorance."
"Of course I do, little one. And to demonstrate to you how pleased I
am with your progress, I will allow you to ask one question each night as I
put you to bed, until I say otherwise. Now sleep, little one, whom I may or
may not choose to name Elceleth. We have a long trip ahead of us." He
stroked her hair before closing the flap of the wagon.
She, an elf with no name, lay down in her master's furs, feeling very
much like a favored pet; perhaps even one with the makings, in time, of a
champion; waiting for the morning when she would learn a new trick to please
her master. Sleep came slowly to her as she thought "If I can so quickly go
from the freedom of the wind to a master's pet, was I destined to become one
from the beginning?"
Copyright 1992 Pencildragon
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